A/N: This section contains a detailed discussion of spanking as a method of discipline for both children and adults. This story is a work of fiction and in no way intended as a debate on the merits of lack thereof of spanking. It also contains a detailed memory of spanking a child, though no onscreen spanking of that child, and the onscreen nonsexual spanking of an adult. If any of the above offends you, hit the back button now.
Tim's eyes flared wide and he took several involuntary steps backward before he realized what he was doing and brought himself forcefully to a halt. "You want me to let you hit me?" he asked, incredulous. He stared at Gibbs, shocked and more than a little scared. Whatever he'd expected when Gibbs called him in here, this wasn't it.
"Not hit, Mcgee, spank, there's a difference." Gibbs gestured toward the chairs flanking the table and waited until McGee dropped into one before taking the seat across from him.
"Not according to my parents," Mcgee muttered. It was nearly a whisper, spoken almost by reflex, and clearly not meant for other ears, but Gibbs was a trained sniper whose life had often depended on hearing the smallest sound. He heard every word.
"They didn't believe in spanking then?" Gibbs asked. Somehow, the knowledge didn't surprise him. Tim was a good kid, sensitive and eager to please. It rarely took more than a sharp look or a stern word to snap him back in line, and it probably never had. He wondered briefly, amusedly, what Tim's parents would have done with a stubborn, headstrong kid like Abby or like his own daughter had been.
"No," Tim said, looking at his hands. "They always said parents who loved their kids didn't hit them."
Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his head. He'd expected McGee to be resistant. Who wouldn't be? He hadn't expected to have to rearrange the kid's fundamental beliefs. The fact was, he knew McGee's parents were wrong, dead wrong, but he wasn't sure how to tell the kid that. He wasn't exactly an expert on parenting, after all. He was, however, a father, and it was his own experiences that had taught him what he knew. Knowing what he had to do, he took a deep, steadying breath and asked quietly, "Do you believe I loved my daughter, Tim?"
Tim started, stunned by both the unaccustomed use of his given name and Gibbs's sudden mention of the family he'd never spoken of before. "Of course, Boss," the reply was immediate and absolute without any room for doubt.
Gibbs gave him a small grateful smile before continuing, "I spanked her. Not often, but when she needed it."
Tim's eyes widened, shock written clear on his face. He couldn't imagine Gibbs ever hitting his kid. He'd seen Gibbs with kids. He was gentle and easygoing. Tim had always imagined that Gibbs would have been the very picture of a doting, protective father. Now, he was admitting to hitting his kid. The very thought was mind boggling. "Needed?" Tim echoed, grasping on to the only coherent thought he could find. "No offense, Boss, but why would a kid ever need to be hit?"
"No kid needs to be hit, son," Gibbs said, "but some need an occasional spanking. Kelly did, and she knew it." The memory came to him unbidden the moment the words left his mouth, as clear and vivid as if it had happened yesterday rather than nearly twenty years ago. "Kelly stole a bottle of nail polish when she was seven," he told Tim, chuckling at the shocked look the younger man gave him. "Yeah, I was pretty shocked when Shannon told me too. Apparently, Shannon had run to the Bx earlier that day to pick up a few things, and Kelly pocketed a bottle of fingernail polish in the process. Shannon caught her with it, chewed her out, and made her go back to the store, admit what she'd done, pay for it and apologize."
Tim nodded. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable consequence to him, but what did that have to do with all this hitting business?
"Then, Shannon made her tell me."
Tim cringed. Facing Gibbs was bad enough for him, and he was a trained federal agent. He couldn't imagine how scary it must have been for a little girl.
Gibbs bit back a smile. Kelly'd had much the same look that afternoon when he walked into her bedroom. He'd gone straight in to her, not even bothering change out of his BDU's like he normally did, figuring she had been waiting and worrying long enough. She was sitting on her bed, idly playing with one of those little plastic dolls she liked, Polly something or other. He could never remember the name. He could tell she wasn't really playing though, just fiddling with nervous energy.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, crossing over to her, "what's up? Mom said you needed to talk to me?"
Kelly nodded, head down, picking nervously at a stray thread on her Strawberry Shortcake bedspread.
Gibbs sat down beside her and gently caught her chin in his hand. "What's going on, Kell? You know you can talk to me, right?" He knew, of course, exactly what was going on. Shannon had already filled him in, but he wanted to hear it from Kelly.
"I got in trouble today," she said quietly, studying her vivid blue fingernails intently.
"You did?" he said. "What happened?"
Kelly squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. She drew the bottle of blue fingernail polish out of her pocket and dropped it in Gibbs's free hand. "I took it," she whispered.
"Took it?" Gibbs prompted.
"From the store," Kelly went on quietly.
"So you stole it," Gibbs clarified sternly.
Kelly winced. "Yes, sir," she admitted.
That answer alone told him just how upset Kelly was. She, like most military kids, had been taught to use the title with his COs and others in authority, but she rarely used it with him. That she did so now told him she was very scared. He felt for her; he truly did, but he'd seen too many Marines ruin lives and careers over theft and burglary in his days as a MP to go easy on her just yet.
"Kelly Ann Gibbs, you know better, young lady."
Kelly seemed to curl up even smaller, shying away from the sternness and disappointment in his tone. "I'm sorry, daddyDaddy," she said quietly.
"Does your mom know?" Gibbs questioned, just as quiet but very firm.
Kelly nodded. "She found it and made me go back and pay for it and 'pologize. And I gotta do extra chores to make up for the money Mommy gave me to pay for it."
"Good." He studied her intently for several long, tense moments. "Why, Kelly?" he asked finally. "What were you thinking?"
Kelly shrugged. "It was pretty and I wanted it."
"You wanted it," Gibbs echoed, incredulously. "That makes it ok to steal?"
Kelly shook her head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."
"If you wanted it so much, why didn't you just ask Mommy?" Gibbs asked.
"She would've said no," Kelly said, just a bit of petulance creeping back into her voice.
"She might have," Gibbs conceded, "or she might not have. You never gave her the chance. Instead, you chose to steal, which is not only very wrong but is also against the law."
"It is?" Kelly squeaked.
Gibbs nodded. "Back when I was an MP, I had to put people in jail for stealing."
Kelly looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Am I going to jail, Daddy?"
For the first time, he let his stern demeanor waiver, pulling her onto his lap and holding her. "No, baby, you're not going to jail. Mommy said the store manager decided that since you admitted what you did and apologized that he'd let me and Mommy handle it and not involve the MPs."
Kelly breathed a sigh of relief, clinging to him. "I'm really sorry, Daddy."
"I know you are, Kell. I believe you, but I need you to understand that this can never, ever happen again. Just because the store didn't call the MPs today doesn't mean they won't. The store manager trusted you had learned your lesson, but if it happens again, he won't."
"I won't do it again, Daddy," Kelly told him solemnly. "I promise."
"Good girl," Gibbs said, holding her tight. "Then we'll consider the discussion closed as long as you do the chores Mommy gives you."
He expected Kelly to grin and run off to play, but instead Kelly looked up at him with a shocked expression. "You mean I'm not getting a spanking?"
Gibbs started to speak, fully intending to say of course not, that she had already been punished and there was no reason for him to spank her, but something in her expression stopped him. "Do you think you should?" he asked.
Kelly stared at him, stunned. Clearly, she hadn't expected to be given a choice in the matter. He could see her wavering, indecision clear in every line of her body. Several times, she opened her mouth as though to speak but shut it again and dropped her head, studying the floor and twisting her hands nervously in her lap.
"Answer me, Kelly," he prompted.
Kelly took a deep, shaky breath. "Prob'ly," she said quietly, "was really bad." The words were so soft as to be barely audible, but the guilt and recrimination that prompted them were palpable.
Gibbs sighed. This was one of those moments when his daughter was every inch his child, who had, for better or worse, inherited his sense of guilt and need for absolution. "Look at me." The command was gentle but clearly a command. To his surprise, Kelly didn't move but stayed stock still, eyes fixed on the floor. "Now, Kelly Ann."
That did it. Kelly's head popped up, and she turned to him, eyes bright with unshed tears. He caught her chin and held her gaze. "Listen to me," he ordered softly. "Yes, stealing's bad, but you are not, understood?" Kelly nodded but averted her eyes. Whatever remaining hesitancy he had, left in that moment. Without another word, he picked her up and gently laid her over his lap.
"And I spanked her," he told Mcgee. "Not because she stole the nail polish—Shannon had already handled that—but because she needed it, to let go of the guilt and shame that was swallowing her."
McGee stared at him incredulously. "You expect me to believe that a kid needed to be hit?"
The slap that connected with the back of his head was sudden and completely unexpected. McGee winced as his head rocked forward.
"Will you stop saying that?" Gibbs flared. "I never hit Kelly."
McGee shot him a doubtful look.
"Have I ever hit you?" Gibbs asked.
"Well, yeah…" McGee said slowly, rubbing his head. Gibbs slanted him a sideways look, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, not really," McGee continued, stammering. "Just headslaps, and that's not really hitting hitting…No, Boss, I guess not, but you're not talking about just a headslap."
"Stand up."
Confusion spread across McGee's face, but he obeyed without question.
Gibbs reached around and swatted him hard across the ass.
McGee yelped. "Ow, Boss, what was that for?"
"That was all I ever did to Kelly," Gibbs said pointedly.
"Oh," Tim said softly. Gibbs nodded toward the chair where Tim had been sitting, and Tim dropped into it, rubbing absently at his now stinging backside. His mind was whirring with a roiling mass of conflicting thoughts. Logically, he had to concede that the swat and the headslap weren't physically all that different. If anything, other than being applied to a far more intimate and personal part of the anatomy, the swat was probably actually safer than a headslap. After all, no one ever got brain damage from falling on their ass.
On the other hand, everything he'd believed for his entire life told him spanking was wrong; yet Gibbs, whom he trusted implicitly, seemed to believe it was not only ok but sometimes necessary. And then there was the disturbing similarity between the headslap and the spank. If his parents were right, maybe that meant the headslaps were wrong too. Except…they didn't feel wrong. Sure, they were unorthodox, and it'd taken him a while to get used to it. After all, he'd grown up completely without physical punishment so of course that sort of swift, decisive reprimand had taken some getting used to. But it had never felt inherently wrong.
But if headslaps weren't wrong, what did that mean about spanking? Did it mean spanking wasn't wrong either? And if it did, did it mean his parents were? He wasn't really comfortable with that notion either.
Tim sighed. He was a mathematical logical person. He thought in straight lines and discrete categories, and this was neither. Either Gibbs was wrong or his parents were wrong and neither idea felt true.
Unless… Maybe neither one was entirely right nor entirely wrong either. Perhaps Gibbs's method worked for his daughter because she was conditioned to accept it. But he'd never had any experience with it at all so the likelihood of it working for him was very slim. Now, if he could just explain that to Gibbs…
"Um, Boss," he said hesitantly, "maybe it worked for—" He paused, unsure of how he should refer to Gibbs's daughter.
Gibbs seemed to sense the source of his hesitation. "Kelly. Her name was Kelly. You can say it."
Tim nodded. "Maybe it worked for Kelly because she was conditioned to accept it, but I don't have that conditioning."
Like hell, Gibbs thought, eyeing the younger man critically. He might never have been spanked before, but he clearly had a strong sense of guilt and felt the need for punishment. He'd been administering a hell of a beating to himself all day.
"If that's the case," he asked quietly, leaning into Tim's space, "then why the hell have you been beating yourself up all day?"
For a moment, Tim stared in stunned silence unsure of what to say or do. His first instinct was to deny it, but the look on Gibbs's face dared him to try. He hadn't been beating himself up. Sure, he felt bad—horrible really. Beyond horrible, the guilt weighed in his chest like a stone. But what kind of agent-–what kind of man—would he be if he didn't feel horrible after leaving Abby alone with a madman who wanted her dead.
"That's what I thought," Gibbs said quietly, taking Tim's silence for acquiescence and getting to his feet. "Let's get this done."
"No, boss, wait," McGee said hastily, frantic to stop this sudden turn of events. "I never said punishment wouldn't work, I just said—you know, um, spanking wouldn't work. Can't you just ground me or something? That always worked when I was a kid." ." Not that he'd ever really been grounded more than once or twice either, but it'd worked.
Now it was Gibbs's turn to stare in stunned silence. Had the kid absolutely lost his damn mind? Had he actually suggested he be grounded, like some damn teenager? Just how the hell was that supposed to help anything?
"Just how would that work exactly, McGee?" Gibbs asked dryly. "We're on call all hours so a curfew isn't going to work. You need to be reachable and able to report at all times so I can't suspend phone or driving privileges. It's not like you have time to do go out, given how much we work. So how exactly could you be grounded?"
"Oh, umm, well, hadn't really thought of that, Boss," McGee stammered.
"Besides, just how does that help?" Gibbs continued. "Giving you time to sit and wallow certainly isn't going to help the guilt."
"Nothing will," McGee murmured under his breath. Despite having serious doubts as to Gibbs's methods, he desperately wished what Gibbs had said was true. He really wished there was something that would help the guilt, but guilt didn't work that way. At least not in his experience. You screwed up; you felt guilty about it; you learned to live with it, but the guilt never truly went away, not completely.
"Yes, it will," Gibbs insisted. He was floored by the utter conviction he heard in Tim's voice. Did the kid truly have no concept of punishment and forgiveness? He'd always known McGee had grown up fast. He'd graduated high school at 16, and by the time he was old enough to buy his own beer, he'd held a Master's from MIT; yet, for all the kid's brains, Gibbs was rapidly realizing he'd missed a few very important lessons along the way.
McGee sighed, looking doubtful.
Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his head. This was getting them nowhere. "Do you trust me, Tim?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, sir," Tim said, very soft and very young.
Normally, the sir would've brought an immediate reprimand, but to do so now would've taken the already fragile young man apart. For Abby, the title went back to her childhood and the southern manners she'd been taught. From Tim, the title was a quiet acknowledgement of his authority, and he honored it for the gift it was.
"Then, just do as you're told," he told McGee. Don't think about it. Don't argue. Just do as you're told."
"But Boss…"
"Trust me, McGee," he said, gentle but firm.
Tim gave a tiny nod. "Yes, sir," he said softly. To him, trusting Gibbs was never in question. Never. Even as frightened as he was—and make no mistake, he was terrified—there was never a doubt in his mind that he would follow this man into the fire if necessary. That being said, there was no real question of obeying either. He still had serious doubts about the whole spanking thing, but if Gibbs thought it was what he deserved then he'd take it. If he could just get through it without passing out or throwing up.
Gibbs nodded. He'd never convince the boy of it, but he was damn proud of McGee at this moment and frankly staggered at the amount of trust the younger man was showing. Tim was clearly terrified yet there wasn't the slightest hesitation in his voice. Right now though, the kindest thing he could do was take charge and get it over with.
He jerked his head toward the table in the center of the room. "Bend over the table."
Tim paled visibly. "Wait, Boss. Um…Uh…Um…What's going to happen?"
That, Gibbs thought, was the $25,000 question. When he'd brought Tim back here, he'd intended to use his belt, just as he always had with his Marines, but there was no way he could take a belt to the boy now. Not when McGee was visibly trembling and looking up at him like a wide-eyed, scared little boy. On the other hand, Tim wasn't a child, and a spanking with his hand, like he had given both Kelly and Abby, wasn't something either of them would be comfortable with.
He let his eyes scan the room, doing a quick recon for a suitable alternative among the hodgepodge clutter that littered the room. He found his solution in the form of a small hand broom tossed haphazardly in one of the cardboard boxes shoved against the wall, probably left there by some well meaning member of the janitorial crew who'd since forgotten about it. The broom looked positively ancient, and probably was, given that half the bristles were missing and its handle was wooden rather than the more modern plastic variety, but the flat, wooden rectangular back was solid, reminiscent of an oversized hairbrush or small paddle, and would suit his purposes nicely.
He stepped over and picked it up then turned back to Tim. "You're going to bend over that table. I'll hold you down - that will be easier for you than asking you to stay in position on your own. Then I'll spank you... with this." He held the broom up, wood side out, for Tim to see.
Tim's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He visibly swallowed, and finally managed to find his voice. "Is it going to... I mean, I know it's going to hurt, but...uh...how much?"
"A lot," Gibbs said honestly. "I won't lie to you. It's going to be bad; it has to be, to do any good. But it won't be more than you can handle. I would never harm you. I hope you know that."
Tim nodded, his face very pale. "I know that, Boss."
Gibbs rested his hand comfortingly on Tim's shoulder, and waited until McGee met his eyes. "There's one more thing, Tim. There's no changing your mind. I can pretty much guarantee that you're going to want me to stop. But, when we do this, we're going to see it through. You don't have to try to take it quietly. If it helps you to scream at me, that's fine. But it doesn't stop until I decide you're ready. Understood?"
Tim blanched even more impossibly pale, and for a moment Gibbs was sure he was either going to pass out or throw up, but to McGee's credit, he held his own. "Yes, sir," he said in a choked whisper.
"You know what to do," Gibbs told him, turning him around to face the table.
Tim stood frozen. He knew what Gibbs wanted, but he found himself unable to take that final step.
"Now, Timothy," Gibbs ordered, edging into his command tone.
That did it. The combination of the command tone and the use of his full name had him obeying instantly, leaning over the table and burying his face in his folded arms. He felt Gibbs plant a restraining hand in the middle of his back then heard the resounding crack of the wood against his ass. For a moment, he didn't feel anything, and he wondered briefly what he'd been so afraid of. Then, suddenly, his brain caught up with his butt, and a streak of fiery pain blazed through him. Gibbs didn't give him time to recover just kept paddling him hard and fast until his ass was on fire and all he could do was cry. And then, as quickly as it begun it was over.
Gibbs laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's ok, son, it's over," he said softly. "You're forgiven."
Tim looked up at him with wet, red-rimmed eyes. "Really?" he asked, sounding very small and very young.
"Yes, really," Gibbs said, continuing to rub his shoulder. "You made a mistake, but you've been punished and it's over. It's time to move on."
Tim took a deep, shaky breath and pushed himself up off the table, swiping at his eyes. "Sorry, Boss," he muttered quietly then cringed. "I mean, I know how you feel about apologies, but…"
"I just told you it's over, McGee," Gibbs said, mildly exasperated. "There's no need to apologize."
"Not that," Tim whispered.
"What then?" Gibbs asked.
"I know I didn't take this well," he said, blushing furiously.
"Didn't take…What the hell are you talking about, McGee?"
McGee shuffled, flicking his eyes to the makeshift paddle Gibbs had left lying on the table.
Gibbs followed his gaze with his own, brow furrowed in confusion. Then, suddenly, Tim's meaning dawned. "Aw, hell, McGee, that was the point. You're supposed to cry."
"But…" Tim protested, squirming self-consciously.
"But nothing," Gibbs countered. "I've seen many a young Marine be reduced to sobbing like a baby after a punishment like that. There is no shame in tears. Crying is part of the healing."
Tim nodded but looked decidedly doubtful.
"I mean it, Timothy," Gibbs said sternly. "I won't have you beating yourself up over some boneheaded idea of weakness."
"Got it, Boss," Tim said, feeling sheepish. How did Gibbs manage to know exactly what he was thinking?
"Good." Gibbs squeezed Tim's shoulder one last time then stepped back. "Hit the head and get yourself together. Then, when you're ready, go down and help Abby. She's swamped." With that, he stepped out and closed the door, leaving Tim alone.